#merthur ficlet

[dryadalisliv]

“Arthur”

They were alone in the throne room, everyone had left a few moments ago. Arthur was sat upon his throne.

“You were just dismissed along with everyone else”

“Arthur” Merlin tried.

“Merlin, leave” Arthur gritted out of his teeth.

“No”

Arthur, who had pointedly not looked at the servant through the entire council meeting, now -finally- placed his eyes upon Merlin.

“What do you mean ‘no’, I am your king. You. Are. Dismissed”

“No” The warlock said, cheeks flushing with anger. “No, Arthur, we will talk. And we will talk now”

Arthur got up from his throne, standing a few steps over Merlin; towering as if the physical elevation was trying to prove what the king didn’t have when it came to Merlin. Yes he was his king, but he sure as hell did not rule over the warlock.

“You do well to remember who gives the orders here. Who the king is.”

“And you, Arthur, would do well remembering who here is loyal to you”

“Loyal.” Arthur huffed “Tell me, M er lin, I find it quite curious that the one who claims himself loyal to the king commits treason regularly in the heart of said kings kingdom, don’t you agree?”

“You, Arthur Pendragon, know nothing of what I have done for you” Merlin nearly screamed, the echo bouncing off the walls in the big room.

“No, and whose fault is that? Who is it that forfeited me of that information, I wonder?” The king yelled back.

“I would gladly tell if you would let me. I have tried for the past FOUR MONTHS!” The warlock roared.

“And what about before those four months, huh? You know, the TEN YEARS! Where you simply forgot to mention the fact that you practiced MAGIC! You know? THE MOST ILLEGAL THING IN CAMELOT! THE KINGDOM IN WHICH YOU HAVE BEEN LIVING IN FOR A DECADE!” Arthur spat, moving closer to the servant.

“You know I could not have told you while your father was alive; that would not have been fair to you. To ask you to choose between me and Camelot”

“I don’t care if it fair or not.” The king cried “And what when I was crowned? You didn’t think to tell me then?” Arthur asked, voice still laced with poison anger.

“Arthur” Merlin tried softly.

“Don’t ‘Arthur’ me” Arthur spat.

“That would be the exact same problem, don’t you see? It would just be a choice between your kingdom and me, instead of your father and me”

“And?” Arthur hissed “what gave you the right to take that choice from me?”

“Arthur, I was trying not to be cruel”

“Oh!” Arthur laughed, though his eyes were mirthless and the cackle was hollow. “You were trying not to be cruel ” he mocked.

“Did you ever think, that maybe, it would be crueller to keep this from me?”

Merlin was shaking, frustration crawling around his limbs, manifesting in his tightened fists and set jaw.

“I DONT KNOW” Merlin screamed after a moment of tense silence. “I don’t know”

“I think there is something else, about this, something you are not telling me!” Arthur accused.

“What?!” The warlock nearly begged “what? I don’t understand. I don’t understand!”

“Nor do I!” The king yelled back. “But there is something! Why wouldn’t you allow me the choice? Why keep this from me? You knew it would come out one day! Why?”

Merlin’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, body still shaking in despair and frustration.

“I DON’T KNOW ARTHUR! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!” The raven asked desperately.

“The truth, for once” Arthur huffed.

“I don’t know what you want me to say?! That I was scared? That I didn’t know how to get the words out of my mouth, that I-“

Arthur was walking slowly further and further towards Merlin, as the warlock kept rambling, trying to find his thoughts.

“-didn’t want to see the betrayal in your eyes, or the hatred or-“

Merlin started letting the tears, he had so valiantly tried to keep at bay, fall.

“-or” his voice broke. “Or the fact that I knew, that in each case you wouldn’t chose me”

He whispered at last.

Silence.

“Oh Merlin” Arthur said softly. Reaching out and wiping away a tear from the warlock’s cheek with his thumb.

“I know I’m terrible at letting feelings show, but I had hoped you would know just a little how dear you are to me”

Merlin looked his king in the eyes for the first time since the tears overtook him.

“De-ar?” The warlocks voice broke at the questioning word.

“Very dear” Arthur said, maintaining eye contact, but showing a soft crimson heat over his cheekbones.

“Oh”

“Yes, oh” Arthur mocked fondly.

Merlin looked at his king intensely.

“Well- Well you are very dear to me too” he whispered after a few moments of silence, and if Arthur hadn’t been standing as close as he was, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“Seems we are in luck then” Arthur said with a smirk.

“Yes it would seem” Merlin grinned, still with Arthur’s thumb gently caressing his wet cheeks.

The king smiled and kissed his warlock.

[h50europe]

MERTHUR - SECOND CHANCE

On a freezing winter's day, Merlin trudged through the thick snow, lost in deep thought. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him and turned to see Arthur standing there, his eyes filled with emotion. Merlin was taken aback by the intensity of the moment, feeling as if he had been given a second chance.

The two men looked at each other, eyes locked, and without a word, they understood what was happening. They intertwined their fingers and made their way to Merlin's cozy cabin, nestled among the breathtakingly beautiful snow-capped mountains. The air was crisp and clean, and the snowflakes were slowly drifting down, creating a serene and peaceful atmosphere. It was as if nature had conspired to create the perfect setting for this momentous occasion.

As they sat down in front of the roaring fire, Arthur silently thanked the Lady of the Lake for guiding him back to Merlin. The flames flickered and danced, casting a warm glow across the room, and the two men sat in comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of each other's presence. They talked for hours, sharing their deepest desires and fears, and the bond between them grew stronger with each passing moment.

As the days passed, they spent their time exploring the mountains and, later, wrapped in warm blankets and sipping hot cocoa sitting in front of the fireplace. They laughed and joked, and the world outside melted away, leaving just the two of them in their private paradise. They were grateful for the chance to be together, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of each other's love.

[wolfiery]

fluke

fill for @merlinmicrofic ; prompt: "your turn" modern merthur, teen+, angst, est. relationship ~~~

Arthur freezes when the sound of glass shatters. 

It’s over.

Merlin would come with him to every dinner; he’d grin widely and charm the guests, rag on Arthur when needed in a way that made everyone laugh. He made it look effortless.

But Arthur saw the strain it took. One night, in the taxi on the way home, Merlin leaned in close, vodka on his breath, and admitted, “Sometimes, I think they’re all living such fragile lives. I just want to knock a table over to see what would happen, shatter the illusion.”

It’s not a whole table. It’s a flute, the stem split, the champagne on the floor with fragments. Merlin isn’t acting now, he’s staring at him. Meanwhile, Mrs. Clarke is already coming up with a tale to explain the loss of Merlin’s functions, and Olivia is calling for the caterers to clean the mess up. 

Arthur can’t look away. Merlin’s brow furrows, his bottom lip quivering through a nervous smile to the women, who wave it off like a broken thing is always something to be waved off. But his eyes meet Arthur’s again, this time broken-hearted, exhausted. This time Arthur looks away.

The company’s e-mail has been sitting in his inbox for months. Starred. Marked. Important. Staring at him in the face every time he opened it: ‘We’re sorry to say we will not be renewing your contract this upcoming fall.’

Things used to feel important.

Merlin holds his hand up when Olivia asks, “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer, or doesn’t care to. Arthur holds his breath when he plucks another flute from a caterer’s platter, strides to him, pushing it into his hand.

“Your turn.”

[ineffable-baker-street]

Merlin had been gone for five days. Arthur had been in bed for those five days. Well, technically he got out of bed on the first day, but then he'd tried to dress and bathe himself, had had to walk around the castle trying to find the kitchen to get food, and decided it wasn't worth it and climbed back into bed.

The crown prince had not spoken in Merlin's absence, and though he hadn't yet said a word, the kingdom, and certainly the royal household knew why. His servant was gone. Though servant was a word used lightly by most, just Merlin's formal title really. Anyone who had seen them together knew he was far, far more than that. Not just Arthur's friend, nor even his simple lover, but his soulmate. More than a soulmate in fact, Merlin was truly Arthur's other half. The two walked in step beside each other, them and only them, lost in the world they'd built to surround each other, a coin that flipped through the air, travelling from place to place, both sides always next to each other, never once straying apart.

But now, one side was gone, and a coin is not a coin with one side missing. A coin with one side is... well it's nothing. An unformed mass, doomed to being cast aside, with no use and not worth a second glance. And that was now Arthur. He had no purpose without Merlin, no future, no destiny. There was nothing more for him to achieve in this world, for Merlin was his destiny. From the day they had met, Arthur had known his life served no purpose without Merlin by his side. No matter what plan was formed, what decision was made, what path he walked, Merlin was beside him through it all, from today, and into the beautiful abyss of forever.

And so Arthur knew where he was next headed, where he had to go to find the other side of the coin. In the dead of night, as the sixth day was arriving, Arthur mounted his horse, wearing the cloak Merlin had once lent him, drawing it around him as tightly as possible, holding nothing but the Horn of Cathbhadh. It was all he needed, for it would take him home. He rode out of the gates, not sparing a glance back, his heart becoming more desperate the closer he got, his eyes fixated ahead of him, until the Great Stones of Nemeton finally come into view. And peace flooded him, over his skin and through his blood, knowing he was almost there, that he had very nearly escaped this grief, a torture he had never had to endure before. Arthur lifted the horn to his lips and blew, every second spent in this world without Merlin unbearable.

Once, all he had cared for was Camelot, and he had thought nothing would come between his duty and loyalty to the kingdom. How unbelievably wrong he had been, proven the day a young boy stood up to him, in a way no one ever had. And how he had been proven wrong every day since then, as he became intwined with Merlin, with every aspect of him, with his very being, until they were one, and finally he was whole. Every moment with Merlin came back to him, and he dropped to his knees an sobbed in agony. Because it hadn't worked. He was still here, and Merlin was still gone. And he reached the end of his memories, to the very last one where Merlin held his face and whispered,

"I love you."

But it was louder, louder than everything else, and then he felt arms around him, pulling him up and drawing him in, and finally, as the whiteness grew brighter and brighter, and the world behind him faded, finally Arthur was home.

[pyjamacryptid]

The Romance Section

A ficlet I wrote in one sitting to see if I could 😅

TW: Accidental voyeurism, but barely anything is seen. It’s all fluff. First kiss. Merthur.

The search for a singular book should not be as arduous a journey as the trek to Moria, Daegal thought to himself.

The maze of his university’s library was a magical place, sure, but in the sense that only witchcraft could cause every single person to find themselves lost in it, at least once. Remembering the time he’d found himself in the psychology section instead of the botany section, Daegal had asked one of the librarians for the specific location of his book. The librarian had been a young man but he’d sighed like an ancient one when he scrawled across the scrap of paper and slid it across the desk to Daegal. Feeling awkward, he’d scurried off and moments later he found himself lost.

What an odd phrase, Daegal thought idly. To find himself lost. But he was. Very very very lost.

Daegal could hear but it was so indistinct it only confused him further. Pages rustled, a pencil scratched paper, keyboards clacked, a person coughed, a slight whisper.

The shelves were made of oak and just as tall as an oak, it seemed. They towered over Daegal and their canopy shaded him from the fluorescent lights. They wore signs; the framed paper next to him read 130 PARAPSYCHOLOGY AND OCCULTISM. Psychology was on the other end of the library from where he started, and he’d started at 400! He had been trying to find 500! How on earth had he ended up here again?

He sighed long and deep, his head so slumped forward he looked like a cane made of jelly. Well, this was the 100 section - in terms of the DDC anyway - so it was only logical that he’d just follow the shelves numerically until he reached 580, right? Mind made up, Daegal walked back the way he had come.

Ten minutes later, Daegal had bravely discovered the Literature section (Class 800) and was seconds from shouting. This being the quiet section of the library was the point; it would summon a librarian in moments who’d carry him off to safety kick him out instantly. Daegal, unfortunately, was a polite and responsible young lad and kept his mouth shut.

It was good he did because he heard indistinct quiet voices, much closer than any he’d heard in a while. Perhaps only an aisle or two away, even. This was good! If he found who belonged to the voices, they could hopefully direct him back to civilisation! (And not get him further lost).

Daegal crossed an aisle and then came upon a little nook. It was a small, square space bordered by two sets of shelves and two walls that joined into a corner. This must be one of the back walls of the library, Daegal surmised and, by the looks of the desks and armchairs, a desirable and cosy little place to read, too. If one could find their way out again, that is.

As he came upon the threshold of this small nook (the bordering shelves on either side of him), the voices - though still hushed - grew louder by proximity. It sounded like two people, unless someone wasn’t speaking of course. He looked about and there, to the left, was the back of a narrow head covered in dark, cropped hair and framed by overly large ears— Was that Professor Pryce? The head turned towards Daegal ever so slightly and— yes! It was! Red scarf and all!

Professor Merlin Pryce was his teacher for the history of plants in medicine this semester. It was Daegal’s favourite class, so far. Professor Pryce was a favourite of students, especially since he did all he could to make the subject interesting.

“I near developed atrophy when I took this class myself, it was so droll,” he’d told them. His guest lecturer, Dr Gaius Wynne-Jones, had smacked him round the head for that. Daegal had been shocked until the student beside him had informed him they were related or something.

Back in the library, Daegal opened his mouth to greet his professor like a shipwrecked man that had finally spotted a boat—

A second voice spoke, it’s owner just out of view, and Daegal suddenly remembered Professor Pryce wasn’t alone. Unable to escape his curse of politeness, Daegal peeked around the shelf he stood next to. It could be nothing, just idle conversation, but he didn’t want to interrupt or impose. Yes, this was technically public, but this was also a very quiet, almost private corner of the library.

The owner of the second voice turned out to be a second man, perhaps the same age as Professor Pryce. He had blond hair that swept over his forehead and wore something Daegal had heard people refer to as ‘business casual’. Ironed, black trousers, nice shoes and a peacoat, left unbuttoned over a dress shirt. He stood rather close to Professor Pryce and both of them seemed comfortable enough with it that Daegal assumed they must know each other either very well, for a very long time, or both. Daegal had never seen him around so it was unlikely he was a professor here, especially if he knew Professor Pryce. Professor Smith was always waiting outside his classroom to have lunch with Professor Pryce.

Professor Pryce and his friend appeared to be in deep conversation, based on how soft spoken they remained, their closeness and the— the way they were looking at one another? Daegal didn’t want to presume. It was hard not to though, when the blond man seemed to hesitate for a moment and then, as if he got a burst of courage, took Professor Pryce’s hand in his own. Then, as if naturally and without much thought, he cradled it, ‘til the back of Professor Pryce’s hand was against his heart.

“Merlin,” he murmured, louder than he had been since, as if it had been punched out of him. “You must know I…”

His voice faded away again.

Professor Pryce scrunched his brows at their intertwined hands, as if confused, and then blinked firmly, once, as if he thought he was seeing things. Nothing changed so he looked up, into his companion’s face. Professor Pryce must see what Daegal could unmistakably see, meters away and half behind a shelf, because he said “Oh, shut up.” and swooped in.

Daegal sprung back. He had been looking to make sure he wouldn’t impose! Not to actually impose! Panicked and praying to the library gods that he wouldn’t be heard and therefore actually interrupt, he scurried away again, as far away as he could.

He hoped he actually found the Psychology section again. Instead, he stumbled across Botany. Go figure.

A/N: I gave Merlin the surname Pryce in this little fic because Pryce means “son of Rhys” (as in, ap Rhys), and ‘rhys’ is in ‘Emrys’ so I thought that was fun and decided to try it out!

[onceandfuturewarlqck]

merlin laughs, a soft, crystal clear chuckle, like the sound of a river greeting the earth, and for a moment, one single moment, arthur stops and looks at him and thinks, for you, for you I'd give up everything. and merlin's eyes twinkle, half moons of knowledge, and they say back, for you, I'd do it too.

as long as they are together, they don't have to give up anything.

(in another life time, there is a lake overflowing with blood, trees bend in grief and pain, their branches hanging low in a silent goodbye. the wind screams and there is nothing but an aching wound.

in another life, there is only sacrifice.

but in this, in this they are walking across the woods, elbows clashing messily, laughing and smiling and yelling in delight.)

— somewhere, fading in between dreams and reality, there is a honey shadowed happy ending, and it lives, and it lives.

[clotpoledestiel]

For all the times Gaius tells Arthur to check the tavern, he never actually goes there (that we see), so this is my attempt at depicting what might have happened if Arthur actually had checked the tavern. If anyone has already done this, my apologies; I have not seen anything already written about this.

Arthur Checks the Tavern, 1.4k

“MERLIN!!!”

Gaius could hear him coming all the way down the hall. He looked about the room, even though he knew Merlin wasn’t there, just in case Merlin had somehow mysteriously appeared behind his back since he had last turned around not five minutes ago.

Even though he had been expecting it, Gaius still startled when the door banged open and Arthur came storming into the room.

“Have you seen Merlin?” Arthur asked after quickly glancing about the room and looking behind the door. “I need him.”

Gaius thought it might be fun to play a drinking game every time he heard that; but then he did not wish to die of alcohol poisoning.

“I’m sorry, sire, I have not seen him all day.”

Gaius thought he could actually see smoke coming out of Arthur’s ears, and wondered if that was even something that could actually happen. In all his years of medicine he had never encountered such a thing, but he would not put it past Arthur to be the first; especially when it came to Merlin. He hoped for Merlin’s sake that Arthur did not find him while in this state, but he hoped for everyone else’s that he did.

“Well where is he? I need him to write my speech for Bayard’s arrival. He’ll be here in two days!”

Gaius thought Arthur was being a touch too dramatic, as usual, but of course he would never say anything. He supposed that would be considered treason. He genuinely did not know where Merlin was, and did not know if he was up to mischief of the magical sort, or just of the Merlin sort, so he was unsure if he needed to cover for him or not.

He figured he’d better cover, just in case, and, being the quick thinker that he prided himself in being, said, “Have you tried the tavern?” Okay, maybe he wasn’t as quick a thinker as he thought. That could be tomorrow’s problem.

Arthur’s face broke out in a scowl just to the left of unbecoming and he let out the most world-weary sigh.

“The tavern. Of course. All right, but if I find him there just know that you might not see him again.”

With that, he was out the door again, banging it even harder than he had upon entering.

“Of course, sire! I would expect nothing less!” Gaius called out after him, muttering to himself, “I hardly see him as it is already…”

Just then it hit him. Arthur was actually going to check the tavern? Oh no. What he’ll do when he doesn’t even find him there I dare to think.

-----------------------

Evoric had just finished cleaning all the dirty cups in preparation of the evening rush when the door to The Rising Sun banged open and in walked… not his usual evening rush. Well it was a rush all right, but made by only one person: the king himself! Evoric was only allowed a moment’s thought that it was odd he was alone when the answer came to him. No, it literally came right up to him. All of a sudden the king was in his face going on and on about something and looking frantically about, so even though he could hardly understand a word, the message was clear all the same. The king was looking for Merlin.

“My Lord, he is not here. I have not seen him all day.”

“How is it that somehow NO one has seen him all day? Does he have powers of invisibility that he didn’t bother to mention? Don’t answer that question,” Arthur added when Evoric began to open his mouth. He shut it with a snap.

Arthur began to look under the tables and even came behind the bar, as though somehow Merlin would have had time to dive behind it undetected in the mere milliseconds it took Arthur to enter the inn.

“Where is he?” Arthur practically whined, and Evoric might have laughed had it been anyone other than the king, and if he did not look so pathetic. He almost felt sorry for him.

“My Lord, Merlin is hardly ever here, unless he is with you. He wants to do as many things without you as you want to do without him,” Evoric dared to add. Somehow he sensed that it would be all right to say such a thing.

“So everything then,” Arthur groused, though the look behind his eyes told Evoric that the meaning of his words had not been lost on him.

“Well thank you, Evoric, first round is on me,” he said, pulling out a fistful of gold coins from his purse and placing them on the counter.

“That is very generous of you, My Lord. I hope you find him.” Evoric did not know if he had meant any words more sincerely than he did these.

Arthur turned back from where he was at the door and gave him a small smile. “I hope so too.”

With that, he was gone and Evoric was left to pray to whoever and whatever would listen that Merlin would turn up soon.

-----------------------

“Gaius! He’s not in the tavern. I’ve looked every…” Arthur came storming back into Gaius’ chambers only to see Merlin sitting right at the table as though he’d been there all day, looking as innocent as ever.

“MERLIN! Where WERE you? I looked everywhere! I even went to the tavern! Now I’m sure Evoric thinks I’m some kind of a crazy person.”

“Oh so you mean he just thinks normally about you?”

“Merlin! This is not the time for your jokes! And how many times have I told you that you’re not funny.”

Merlin looked at him unbothered, which only succeeded in making him more irritated.

“Again I ask, where were you?”

“I was mucking out your stables. You know, my chores? What I’m supposed to be doing.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. “What you’re supposed to be doing is helping me write my speech for Bayard’s arrival. And how come you don’t have any dirt on you? I can’t imagine that you would manage to get out of the stables clean. And I checked the stables earlier. You weren’t there.”

Arthur had come up close to Merlin and leaned down right in his face. “So what were you doing? And don’t lie, we all know you’re a terrible liar.”

“I was mucking out your stables, Arthur. You just must not have seen me when you came in. I’m so good at what I do that people tend to not even notice I’m there.”

“Now we all know that isn’t true. Well, no matter. I’ve finally found you so you’re to come with me at once and help me write this speech.”

Arthur had picked Merlin up by the back of his tunic and was dragging him towards the door.

Merlin, unfazed and acting like this was a normal occurrence (which it was), began to argue with him.

“Bayard isn’t coming for two days, why do you need to write this speech now? And why do you need my help? You and I both know you’re just going to have me write the whole thing anyway. No need to involve you in the process.”

“Do you question your king, Merlin? These are important matters of state and I would not see you cause the downfall of Camelot because you can’t even fulfill your basic duties.”

“The downfall of Camelot? Arthur, Camelot wouldn’t last a day if I left everything up to you.”

“You’re getting dangerously close to treason, Merlin.”

“Oh, I’m terrified. You’d better put me in the dungeons for the night so I can come to my senses and you can focus on writing that speech.”

“Merlin…”

“Goodbye!” Gaius called out as the door shut behind the two of them. He sighed as he listened to their bickering fade down the hall and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Those boys…”

Gaius knew Merlin felt under-appreciated for all the times he saved Arthur’s life and no one knew, but he thought the real hero here was himself for having had to put up with those two for so long.

[poisonedfate]

dizzy (chapter 1)

read on ao3, 1.2k

Granted, there wasn't a whole lot of peace surrounding the days and nights of a prince, but being stuck outside, with unbelievably (and surprisingly, all things considered) aware knights only mere hours after their first kiss - gods, this could really be the end of him.

just a little fun ficlet of merthur getting together and then having to be surrounded by people right after! and merlin is NOT taking that for granted, because teasing arthur? well, turns out it's quite fun. chapter two will be out soon, it's only split because it felt right the way the story was going!

[ink-through-her-veins]

Arthur pauses the movie when his phone rings, and it’s Merlin’s face on the screen. Anyone else would go to voicemail. He doesn’t pause his shows for just anyone. There is such a thing as texting.

He barely gets out a “hi, love” before Merlin’s demanding, “Where are you?”

“At home, in bed. You said you didn’t want me to pick you up at the airport. Where are you? Did you make it home from your trip?”

“I’m at home, staring at an empty bed. Are you in the wrong flat? Oh my god, Arthur, tell me you’re not in the wrong flat, again! Mr. Simmons will kill us.”

“That was one time! I was pissed off my— Of course I’m not in the wrong flat! I’m in my flat, watching my television. I think I know where I live.”

“Oh,” Merlin whispers.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Right. Sorry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Merlin—“

But he’s already hung up. That tiny little “oh” full of disappointment, and confusion lingering, replaying in Arthur’s mind like a scratched record unable to move on. The door to the flat opens, and a little bubble of joy blossoms in his chest.

“Merlin?”

“No.” Morgana. Damn. She stands at the door, hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“No you don’t. You haven’t lived here in months. I rent out that room on Airbnb.”

“You what!?! It’s my room!”

“You don’t need a room for old football jerseys and trainers,” Morgana scoffs. She looks round the room. “Where’s Merlin?”

That damn little “oh”. He’s a fucking pillock, the world’s biggest idiot.

“I want a cut of the Airbnb money,” he tells Morgana as he shoves past her.

“What?! It’s my flat!”

“Dad gave us the flat,” Arthur insists as he yanks on his shoes.

“Then I’m charging you the cleaning fee for your idiocy.”

Fair enough, Arthur thinks running out the door and hailing a cab. Merlin’s key is on his key ring. His favorite pair of trainers is by the door, his jacket on the coat rack, his boyfriend in the bed.

Merlin wakes as Arthur climbs into bed behind him. “What…?”

“You were right. I was in the wrong flat. How stupid am I?”

Merlin’s sleepy smile makes his chest ache, but then he tucks his mop of black hair beneath Arthur’s chin, and the feeling changes to a flutter as Merlin mumbles, “So stupid.”

(And read a canon version of Merlin not realizing they live together here)

[nothankyoudear]

Ever since Merlin was a small child, Hunith had always bombarded him with loving touches. She carried him whenever she could, and when he grew too big to be carried, she left him with warm hugs and soft touches on his cheeks. She wiped his tears when he cried, and intertwined their fingers on cold nights as they slept.

Arthur, on the other hand, could not remember the last time he was touched by his father in any way other than a firm clasp on the shoulder. All his life, he's known nothing but side glances and firm remarks. No one was there to wipe his tears away when he cried, and certainly no one was there to hold him on cold nights as he slept.

He was the prince of Camelot, after all, and everyone knew that princes cannot be soft.

Which was why, the first time that Merlin went in for a hug, Arthur immediately flinched back.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Arthur left, unable to stand the tension in the air. Not thinking much about it, he had rendered it just another one of those awkward little moments with Merlin that would soon dissipate from his memory.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Arthur found himself unable to move on from it. He spent that night turning in his bed, wondering what it would've been like if he accepted Merlin's hug - The warmth and comfort that he had only ever seen given to others. He fell asleep wondering what it would feel like to be embraced by another.

Merlin doesn't do it again, at least not for a while. It was understandable, especially after Arthur reacted so drastically at his first attempt at closeness, but Arthur still couldn't help but spend another few sleepless nights regretting his reaction.

Because he was the prince of Camelot, and if Merlin - irresponsible, reckless, sarcastic Merlin - wasn't willing to touch him, then no one was.

So when the second time came - when Merlin, most likely without thinking ("when does he ever think?"), went in for a hug, Arthur hugged back.

He wrapped Merlin in his arms, and oh, it was bliss. The warmth and the comfort and the closeness that he had heard so much about were all real. He couldn't help but tighten his arms around the other boy's thin body and lean in, rendered helpless by a sense of aching intimacy.

Questions immediately appeared in Arthur's mind: How had he survived up until then without touches like these? If Merlin had never been assigned as his manservant, would he have gone his whole life without experiencing this? And now that he's finally experienced this, how could he go without it for the rest of his life?

The thought pained Arthur, so he squeezed even harder.

They didn't talk about it afterwards, but Arthur knew that Merlin knew. Arthur had exposed the softness underneath his hard exterior, and now Merlin knew.

And lord, was it great.

Their previously rare touches turned more and more common. Soon, putting on Armour turned into lingering touches on Arthur's body, and training sessions turned into Merlin haphazardly wiping the sweat from Arthur's forehead as he leaned into the cooling touch on his skin.

Sometimes, if Arthur was feeling brave, he’d even initiate some of these touches.

He’d hook his finger with Merlin’s as they walked to the stables, running his thumb against whatever skin he could reach. He’d warm Merlin’s seemingly forever cold hands by gently pulling them into his own bigger ones. He’d walk up silently behind Merlin as he’s softly humming a song while polishing Arthur’s armour, and wrap his arms around his waist, burying his head into the crook of Merlin’s shoulder.

It was like Arthur's mind was trying to reclaim all touches lost to the years. He craved skin - Merlin's skin - on his. He craved the way Merlin's fingers ran over his muscles. He craved these moments of intimacy where he wasn't Arthur Pendragon, the prince of Camelot, and he was just Arthur.

And somehow Merlin knew of this insatiable craving of his, because he was always giving and giving and giving. Arthur never openly asked for the tender touches and the soft trails of fingertips against his stomach, but Merlin - lovely, gorgeous, beautiful Merlin - was always there to give.

The love in Merlin was overflowing, and Arthur was there to catch every last drop of it.

And as Arthur was still human (despite how hard he tried), there were times when he wept.

Arthur cried the same way he cried when he was a child - with his shoulder shaking, his eyes shut, and his hands trembling. He also used to sob with his mouth open and with his grief audible like any other child, but that had long been scolded and beaten out of him.

However, despite the habits that he brought into adulthood, the nights when he cried were no longer like the lonely nights that he suffered through as a child - There was no ache in his chest as tears ran down his cheeks. No biting the collar of his shirt as he attempted to stay quiet. No harsh words to keep him silent.

There were, in their place, gentle caresses to his forehead as Merlin smoothed back his hair, murmuring words of comfort under his breath. A warm shoulder to lean on as he cried quietly. Thumbs that wiped under his lashes and nimble fingers that caressed his cheeks.

A voice that cooed and replied, “I'm here, darling” when Arthur whispered, “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin” through his tears. Lips that pressed against his as another sob seeped out. Arms that wrapped around Arthur, and gentle hands that ran themselves comfortingly over the expanse of his back until they both fell asleep.

And what a joy it was, to have someone who wiped his tears away when he cried, and someone to hold him on cold nights as he slept. To be touched and held and loved.

What a joy Merlin was.

[dryadalisliv]

“What if I told you I loved you” Arthur's fingers played over the back of Merlin’s hand; grazing swiftly skin to skin, nearly not touching. A shiver went down Merlin spine.

“I don’t think that would help your case” Merlin whispered, trying to hold back both tears of joy and absolute grief at Arthur’s words that he knew he would never be allowed to accept nor return, no matter how much he reciprocated the feelings he spoke of.

“And why is that? Why can’t you tell me?” Arthur asked again. “If I tell you now that I love you, don’t you believe me?”

“I-“ to be frank Merlin had a hard time understanding how someone like Arthur could love someone like Merlin, but he swallowed back the words of protest in effort to make the king understand. “I do believe you” he settled on saying, “what worries me is how you feel after I tell you.”

Arthur looked him intensely in the eyes “What if I promised to love you no matter what, no matter what you tell me. I know in my heart that I love you, and you can’t change that” he sounded so sure that Merlin, for a moment, was tempted to tell him. Tell him all about the magic, of the prophecies, and the love. But,

“I can’t” Merlin’s voice broke.

“Then tell me why you can’t” Arthur voice had taken a desperate quality. “You said you believe me when I tell you that I love you, why would you expect me to not do so after?”

Merlin looked down at his hand, that the king was still slowly caressing. “Why?” Arthur pushed, and the raven looked up to catch his eyes.

“Hate stands the strongest when born from love” Merlin simply whispered.

Arthur was silent for a moment before saying: “I truly don’t think I have it in me to hate you. I simply don’t think I am capable.”

Merlin sighed, oh how he wished he could believe that. He could feel the sting in his eyes become more intense and he stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to choke down a cry. 

“I’m- I can’t- I’m not ready to see your hate Arthur. Because you will hate me. And- And I’m so afraid” he choked on a sob, “I’m just so afraid.” 

Arthur engulfed Merlin’s hand with his own and tugged at it forcefully, dragging Merlin’s body towards him so he could embrace him tightly. The gesture left Merlin even more tear wrecked, as he was sitting with his nose pressed against Arthur’s neck, and the tears from his eyes wetting the shoulder of the king’s tunic.

“I don’t want you to hate me” he whispered into his king’s neck. “I can’t- I can’t watch that”. His broken whisper was so lost, and Arthur’s embrace tightened.

“I don’t know what to say to make you believe me” Arthur said into Merlin’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But I promise, I promise that I will love you no matter what. And if you don’t believe me then… then I’ll at least promise you that I will listen, that I will try to understand. I want to understand!” 

Merlin felt the tears overwhelm him once more as he heard those words, and Arthur’s hand began soothing motions up and down his back, until it rested on the nape of his neck. “I promise” he whispered into Merlin’s ear.

The warlock fisted the back of Arthur’s tunic in his hands, desperately clinging to his king, before he said, barely over his breath: “I’m a warlock. I have magic”

And with those words he had never been more scared, and never been more free. He choked on a sob and held Arthur even tighter.

“Hey” Arthur whispered after a beat of silence. “Hey.” He moved his hands from Merlin’s neck to his chin and cupped his face, guiding his warlock to look at him.

“Look at me” he commanded with immense fondness.

When Merlin caught his light blue gaze, he felt more grounded than he had ever been before.

“I think we have overcome much worse challenges” Arthur smiled gently, but still looked like there was a sadness behind the words that he held at bay. “And for the record, I’m furious that you’ve had to lie for so long and that you did it to me; but my love for you still stands”

Merlin looked at his king in disbelief, and what else could he do than kiss him right there on the spot?

[inalandofsadclowns]

Arthur had always thought, Merlin most likely came from an impoverished landowner's family. It was clear as day: first of all, the audacity, the insolence towards nobles, towards the prince himself! Then the fact that he could read and write, and had decent rhetoric skills. Then there was his overall aversion towards working... Every sign pointed to only one sensible conclusion, which was that Merlin had come from a well-off family – if not from nobility, even.

Merlin never said so himself, not even to gain respect, but perhaps he was not exactly proud of his family's history and just wanted to start a new page in his life. If he was honest, Arthur could respect this: putting in the hard work after a life of comfort and privilege; most nobles would not be able to do this. Only Merlin had been doing a truly lousy job with it.

One day news arrived from Merlin's home, saying it was in desperate need of help. Arthur immediately jumped to help, it was never a question if he would, only he was surprized at what he found in Ealdor. He was expecting to meet the remnants of this bankrupt, landowner-family, but the reality was much simpler than that: Merlin and his mother were really just poor peasants, who had spent their lives doing hard manual labor, sleeping on cold, hard ground and most importantly – secluded from the institutions of education.

Arthur left Ealdor with more questions than he came with.

[wolfiery]

i'm at the end of the world with you

fill for @merlinmicrofic ; prompt: masquerade merlin/arthur, teen+, ~mysterious came out at exactly 500 words lol ~~~ It’s hidden here, marooned from morality. He’s underneath a guise like every other, parading castle grounds, with wolfish grins and panther masks. His father insisted on the dragon, insisted on carrying their name with pride everywhere they went. Arthur eventually found it was best to do as told.

But tonight his father won’t recognize him, and the sycophantic lords that had daughters, who had daughters that wanted daughters, would leave him to his cage in silence. Music bleats with the same whine that eventually grates on him, the chord striking through a chasm he exists through. Where he walks with an air of indifference, of royalty and shame, as they are meant to live.

His blond hair reveals him and the crowd still parts as he makes way to the drinks. Except for a boot, leathered and worn, sticking out from a lounging attendee, on a chair that he’d only ever seen as decor. 

The man doesn’t move his leg out of the way, but he turns his head to smirk, blue eyes meeting Arthur’s with a sparkle. He’s got a black mask with gold lining, fitted so well it seemed painted, and sleek raven feathers that curled over his head, almost like a crown.

Their gazes flit and linger for the night, passing guests and watching the actions of the other with growing curiosity. 

At last, Arthur finds him in the garden, far from viewing eyes, escaping his personal guards.

“Something tells me you’re ready to follow me out the gates,” he remarks, still smiling and Arthur is no less enamored than when he realized this man fully intended to trip him at the party.

“Follow you? I don’t even know you,” Arthur scoffs, but lies have always spilled so easily. This is no different. He’s beautiful, and it’s obvious he’s powerful, uninvited and unafraid. He traces the railing with a hand, walking along the planted path with inherited care, “I suppose you’ll whisk me away to spill the kingdom’s secrets?”

“You’ve got it all wrong already.” Arthur looks up to see his smile is devastating; sincere and playful, and out of place. Arthur loves anything that’s out of this place. “I’m here for you.”

And he loves the way it sounds already, if his tight grip on the railing says anything. He also knows that it’s madness, that he is the prodigal son with a prince’s duty. He couldn’t be swept away without dire consequences, even on innocent people knowing his father’s wrath.

The funny thing is that he felt he knew this stranger more than his own family.

“How do you plan on evading the king’s search? Because he will come looking for me.”

“I didn’t hear a refusal,” he responds instead, taking a step closer. Brazen, bold. Arthur felt his heart stutter. 

“My name is Merlin,” he says, with a flash of gold sparking in his eyes. Merlin. It fills in the crevice of his throat where fear used to lie.

“Well, Merlin? Are we going?”

[bibuck-saved-me]

it’s a selfish thought and arthur knows it because merlin has spent so much time hiding a vital part of his existence, his very being, all because of arthur. so he presses it down into the deepest recesses of himself and focuses on doing everything he can to support merlin, to give merlin the world he deserves. a world where he is free.

but sometimes, when he’s alone in his room surrounded by his endless responsibilities, he will think to himself, i am nothing.

merlin and the old religion hold him as this once and future king, but no matter what they say, he can’t understand why they think any of this is about him. it was never him. everything he’d done, every accomplishment and fight he’d won had never been his to claim. he was a fraud. he was a lonely king with nothing to his name beyond the blood on his hands, the blood staining his every crevice.

he isn’t the once and future king. he doesn’t deserve any of the praise. he is the moon, a piece of rock in the sky that shines only because of the sun. without the sun, the moon is worthless. without the sun, no one would have ever looked at the moon twice.

arthur had never been proud of his mistakes and his inaction when it came to his father’s slaughter, but he had been proud of the things he had done to keep his kingdom and his people safe and healthy and happy. he has fought and fought and fought only to discover he had never even landed a punch. every knockout, every victory he had held up to hide the ugly nothingness of his true, empty self was never his to hold. with the discovery of merlin’s magic, any worthiness he thought he’d earned had slipped through his fingers like sand through a sieve.

merlin is beautiful and powerful. merlin is a god amongst men, a gift given to this world, given to arthur, and for what?

this prophecy for arthur was always about merlin. he carried the weight, he fought and fought and fought and he won, merlin was the one who had carried this kingdom on his back until they reached the safety of the golden era of the current day.

it’s a selfish thought, to be thinking of himself in relation to merlin’s magic when merlin has suffered every single day because of arthur. and yet, in those moments, he can’t help but wonder why he was born at all, why he was named savior of a group of people who would’ve never died if only he had stayed unmade, a whisper of nothingness in his mother’s womb.

his first breath caused a massacre, a genocide, and yet he was given an angel and a title and a prophecy of greatness he could never actually fulfill.

he would never tell merlin about these thoughts he had. merlin would end up feeling guilty somehow, would carry the weight of arthur’s worthlessness even more by taking on the deserved revulsion arthur had for himself.

no, he couldn’t tell merlin about this. merlin would tell him he was wrong, would try to talk him up and fix it. would use that endless kindness to tell arthur endless stories about his own importance. merlin would shine his sunshine on arthur until arthur forgot he was just a lump of rock. he wouldn’t rest until arthur loved himself, until arthur took all the credit for merlin’s own accomplishments again.

no, he would keep this to himself. he would give merlin the attention and love he deserves. this story isn’t actually about arthur pendragon. it never was.

[pyjamacryptid]

I’m not sure how I got here but I’ve been thinking about the intimacy and devotion of washing another’s hair, the hair of someone you care for (how unconditional a gesture it is) and I then thought of Merlin doing it for Arthur.

It’s not in the job description (a lot of what Merlin does for Arthur is not in the job description) and it’s unlikely something that started his first day as Arthur’s servant. Nor the second or the 20th or by the 6th month. Arthur may be a prince, a prattish one at that, but when it comes to his baths he only expects of Merlin what he expects of any manservant - call for the tub, draw the water, lay out a towel, place fresh clothes close by and so on. But, naturally, he’s also a prince that commands the knights and with training comes injuries. Perhaps an arm was dislocated and he’s on strict orders from Gaius not to utilise it, and definitely not to reach above his head. Later that same day Arthur sits in the bath and realises too late he can’t tend to his own hair. But he doesn’t call Merlin over from where he’s making the bed. He tries to do it himself. He’s still got one working arm, after all.

Arthur only knows how to command things be done. He doesn’t know how to ask for things. He doesn’t yet know that asking isn’t weakness.

But he can’t hide his struggling from Merlin, who’s more mother hen than manservant.

“Here, let me,” he says, suddenly behind Arthur, “before you lose all the bathwater and your arm, both.”

“I don’t need your help, Merlin.”

“Of course not, sire. Now, pass me the hair oil.”

“Excuse me, who is it that gives the orders here?”

“You, sire. The hair oil.”

“…”

“Thank you. Right, hold still. I said hold still—“

After, Arthur will wonder why he ever thought Merlin would be anything but gentle. After, Arthur will wonder when his eyes closed and why they feel a little wet, especially as Merlin took great care to catch anything before it fell in Arthur’s face.

Over time, a stool begins to sit beside the bath, whenever it’s drawn. Over time, Arthur will notice Merlin’s fingers never grow any less gentle (even when he knows his manservant is angry with him). Over time, Arthur will want to ask why Merlin added washing his hair to his list of jobs indefinitely, long after his arm healed, but is afraid he’ll only prompt Merlin to stop because it’s not a job at all. Over time, Arthur will wonder what oils Merlin uses on his own hair, if he has access to hair oil at all, and how his cropped hair might feel to touch.

[pondermoniums]

AU where Arthur wakes up next to the lake. He feels cold and tired, like he can't fully wake up. He's sore, but for the most part he's able to get himself back to Camelot. The city and his queen welcome him back with relief and jubilation...but Merlin is not there.

"We expected him to come back with you," Gwen says.

"He'll turn up," Leon says, but it sounds hollow. Arthur knows he's waiting for his brother knights, and as the days go on, neither the knights, nor Merlin return home.

Arthur is slowly losing his mental fortitude, and Gaius is the only person who is honest with him. "Something must have happened, sire."

"You think he's a prisoner of war?"

"No. I think Merlin...did something. What do you remember?"

"I remember...I believed I was dying. But then I woke up and I was fine."

It takes another day and a half for Gaius to build up the courage to tell him, "Your majesty, I have reason to believe that you did perish at Mordred's blade."

"Then why am I sat here talking to you? You can see me. Hear me. I can touch things."

"Sire...do you remember the illusion Morgause gave you all those years ago? About your mother?"

Arthur had willingly pushed that memory to the back of his mind, where the darkest and quietest waters made no sound unless forcefully stirred. The look on his face, however, encourages Gaius to continue, "Do you remember what she told you? About your conception?"

Arthur tried to make light of it. "Nobody wants to think too much on their conception."

Gaius, ever the stoic physician, persevered, "Except Ygraine could not. Bringing you into this world evoked an ancient magic, the magic of life and death. The sorceress who utilized it, did so in such a way that allowed you to be born, but at the price of your mother. Souls trading places in this world."

Arthur knew what Gaius was telling him, but he did not want to know. Did not want it to possibly, ever feasibly, be true. Out of politeness, he hears his voice say, "What are you telling me?"

The old physician's demeanor did break as he took a deep breath. "I'm telling you...that I believe Merlin traded places with you."